As the Moon Changes
by Tell Me You're Not Hydra
Summary: There's no such thing as a werewolf. Skye reminds herself of this as the people around her begin screeching and yowling and making an assortment of sounds that are distinctly inhuman in nature.


**June 7th, 6 days**

"Are you okay? Jesus fucking—Holy shit, it just came out of nowhere." Miles has already scrambled from the car, door left wide open in his haste to check the damage to his Jeep. Eyes wide and panting from the adrenaline, he's doubled over with his hands braced against his thighs. It's no surprise when he starts swearing loudly about a decently sized dent to his piece of crap car. Lots of 'fucks' and 'shits' and other repetitive expletives issue from where he stands but none of that is Skye's concern.

"It didn't just come out of nowhere, dumbass!" Skye snaps at him hotly. How many times had she told him to keep his damn eyes on the damn road? How many times had she insisted that he not fiddle with his iPod when she was in the car with him? For every time he'd scoffed and rolled his eyes just so he could call her overbearingly maternal, she's clearly had her point proven now. He was already overly cocky about his driving without throwing other distractions in to the mix.

Of course, he ignores the fact that she'd told him to slow down a couple of seconds before the dog had come leaping across the road. Given that he'd been flying down the dim backroads a good ten miles over the closest speed limit, it's not surprise that they've ended up in this situation. Shooting a glare his way, she turns her attention to the more important matter at hand: is the dog alive still? From what she can see of it's large, prone body, she has to guess that it's probably dead.

"I'm so sorry, buddy." Skye mutters regretfully. She starts walking towards it.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Miles has shifted his attention, at least momentarily, from the damage he'll spend the next month complaining about fixing to what she's doing.

"I need to check if it has a collar." Skye raises an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Are you—what if this is someone's pet you just killed, Miles? The owner deserves to know that their dog died." He makes a face at her and grumbles something about it not being like he meant to hit the stupid thing. Instead of launching into what she desperately wants to say, she just rolls her eyes and makes her way over the to the dog. Car versus dog. That's a battle that's never going to end in anything but heartbreak.

Her gut reaction is to call it a malamute or husky but that doesn't seem right at all. At least, if it is one of those things then it's certainly the biggest one she's ever seen. Her fingers hover over the thick fur. The wet red staining the blended colors of its bulky coat makes her recoil her hand momentarily. She's never had a dog of her own before but that doesn't mean she can't allow her guilty mind to wonder how devastated the owners will be.

Animals are loyal and unconditionally kind companions. She's always wanted a pet of her own. A cat, maybe, or a dog to take with her on long walks. Some people walk their cats or lizards too. Or even a bunny or bird. Bonding with an animal and becoming its friend just to have some speeding kids rip it away from you? She swallows, ignores the sound of Miles on the phone, and begins combing through the mass of fur around the dog's neck.

And just like that, jaws are clamping down on her wrist faster than she can comprehend what's happening. She's screaming and wrenching herself backwards as hard as she can but she can feel the rushing wetness that isn't all dribbling saliva. By the time Miles scrambles over to her, Skye's already shoved herself away with her arm cradled against her chest. It feels like she's been winded with how she's gasping for breath. Large gold eyes stare at her.

The dog's gone with a guttural growl and the sound of its body crashing through the underbrush of the woods.

"Skye! Fuck, fuck, fun—Do you need to go to the hospital? Shit, I should take you to the hospital. What if the damn thing had rabies? You definitely need to—" Frustrated by both her pained tears and shallow breaths, she pushes hard against Miles's chest with her uninjured hand.

"Do you know how pissed the Pierces will be if they have to pay for emergency medical bills? It wasn't foaming at the mouth or anything. It wasn't even aggressive until I went and touched it." Skye screws up her face at the thought. They'd already given her a warning when they were called in for a parent-teacher conference for punching one of her asshole classmates. Raina had totally been asking for it by constantly picking on the Parker kid but it'd put her on thin ice. They didn't want to deal with any trouble. She'd been lucky enough not to be shipped off right away. "Just… Just get me a water bottle from your car so I can wash this off."

No foster parents wants the 'trouble' kid. Having to go to the hospital because she'd been dumb enough to go approach an injured animal? That definitely qualifies as making her more trouble than they think she's worth. So far she has a pretty good track record here. There's no reason she should screw that up. All it'll take is one mistake and it's right back into her social worker's car with a trash bag of her belongings. Cringing as the lukewarm water splashes against her tender skin, she puts on a brave face long enough to hold her trembling out for Miles to examine.

"See? It'll heal just fine. They don't need stitches. Get me some steri-strips and hydrogen peroxide and I'll be totally fine. Don't worry so much." Her smile is enough, for the moment, to make him relent. Between swearing at the dog and trying to make sure that she's comfortable in the car, he relaxes. The throbbing punctures in her arm are no longer at the front of his mind.

* * *

**June 10th, 3 days**

"How you holding up, Steve Irwin?" Miles sounds far too pleased with himself. "Get it? You're the Wild Dog Hunter."

"Very clever, dork." She turns her head to press her lips to his hand where it rests on her shoulder.

"Seriously though." He drops his voice. Concern twists itself onto his face. "Are you okay? It's not infected or anything?"

"No, no." Skye hastily smiles.

"Can I see it? Just to be sure? There's nothing wrong with going to the doctor. The Pierces will just have to deal with it but if something's wrong, you can't just ignore it… It could be serious." As much as a pain in the ass he can be, he also has these moments. He cares about her more than anyone else.

"Trust me. Okay?" She turns back to face the computer but isn't focused on anything it says. He squeezes her shoulder and kisses her temple before he has to leave for his next class.

She stares at the flickering pixels. How is she supposed to tell him that the bite was already healed the day after it happened?

* * *

**June 13th, a few hours [12:45]**

"Oh, great, Raina's invited herself along to the party tonight." Skye grumbles. She only looks away from the girl in question when taunting dark eyes meet her own.

"Actually, I think Debbie invited her." Miles nudges her with his elbow. "It'll be fine! You're just going to stick with me anyway."

"Yeah, yeah." Skye has a hard time forming the words through the angry tightening of her throat. "Right."

* * *

**June 13th, Full Moon [23:11]**

It's stumbling.

Underbrush gives way to her footfalls, snapping and crackling. The heady scent of the earth and damp leafy debris. None of her footsteps are as noisy as the rushed bumbling of the animal ahead of her. All harsh panting, sniffling, and whimpering. There's the metallic tang of blood hanging in the air. It's cut itself in its panic to get away.

Oh, but that's nothing. They've only just started and it might as well already be over.

It's looking back in her direction wildly. It's vision is terrible in the dark but hers couldn't be better. Her belly is pressed against the cool ground, her head lowered and eyes fixated. It staggers this way and that, squinting and lost. A couple of steps are taken uncertainly in one direction only to be reversed.

Her patience for this game runs out.

There's gurgled screeching as bones crunch between her molars. Hot, tangy blood rushes into her mouth. Fists flail against her flanks, nails rake at her ears and along her nose. It stings. She puts a stop to it by biting down and jerking her head back.

The prey stills.

* * *

**June 14th, 29 days [08:00]**

When Skye brushes her teeth in the morning to rid herself of particularly bad morning breath, her toothbrush comes again stained with red. Confused, she checks her gums to see in they're bleeding.

They aren't.

* * *

**June 14th, 29 days [10:00]**

"Mary Sue!" The harsh voice of her foster father immediately summons her to the top of staircase. She's done all of her homework this week. She hasn't used the phone too much or watched too much television. She's even apologized to Raina and the principal with the both of her foster parents present. Fear knots her gut. Nothing is coming to mind for how she's pissed them off this time but she must've done.

"Yes, Mr. Pierce?" Skye anxiously takes a step down.

"There are police officers here to talk to you." He beckons her down.

An icy chill puts her hairs up on end as she starts her descent. There's a weird look on his face. Pity? Anger? She can't tell but it's some mixture of several emotions as far as she can tell. The cops are staring at her. They're not smiling.

"You're Mary Sue Poots?"

"Sk—Yeah. Yeah, that's me." Skye stops herself from finishing the correction. They won't care about her preferred name.

"I'm sorry to have to be here about this but we have to talk to you about Miles Lydon."

* * *

**June 15th, 28 days**

"We just can't handle her anymore." Skye hears the Pierces telling her social worker as she's dragging her bag down the stairs for the last time. It's a stale smelling, black, plastic trash bag. The words tear at her like a dull blade across her skin. It turns out that a visit from the police to tell her that the most important person is her life is dead is exactly what the Pierces consider the last straw. Even so, that pain has nothing on the feverish tears that keep welling up in her eyes.

She rubs them away harshly.

The Pierces say their goodbyes. Mrs. Pierce hurries away as quickly as she can while Mr. Pierce looks her squarely in the eyes as though to make certain that she knows he doesn't feel the least bit guilty about this. As if she needs to be reassured of that. She flares her nostrils. He's sweating. She can smell his wretched body odor. It crosses her mind to curl her lips and make some comment about how he smells. She refrains.

"I'm sorry." Thirty minutes into the car ride, her social worker finally speaks to her. He's a nice man but he clearly isn't sure what to say in this situation. Maybe that's better. It could be worse to hear him fumbling through sentiments that he doesn't fully mean.

Sorry is a piss poor word.

* * *

**June 17th, 26 days**

Grinding.

There's grinding. It feels like her whole head is inside some monster's massive mouth as it gnashes its teeth together in a horrible, grating, grinding cacophony. Like a bulldozer leveling the earth, the grinding pounds through her skull as mercilessly as metal jaws to the dirt. Skye buries her head underneath her pillow, squeezes her eyes closed tightly and feels, for the first time, like praying for this to stop. Please. Please stop.

"**_Can we talk about Mary Sue? I think I found someone for her._**" Someone screams the words deafeningly.

"Je—Do you have to be so loud?" Skye snaps as she sits upright in her bed.

Elektra stares at her calculatingly from her own bed. Her jaw sets tightly for a moment and moves oddly. The grinding, so abruptly stopped, resumes to hit her like a freight train. Skye shoves her hands over her ears. Elektra stops moving her jaw. The grinding stops.

"You alright?" Elektra asks.

"Yeah, whatever, just have a headache." Skye shrugs it off the best that she can. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

Elektra looks even more puzzled.

"Well, out with it. You have my attention after all that yelling." She hauls herself up off of her bed to move over to her desk idly.

"I didn't say anything… Are you sure you're okay?"

That stops Skye in her tracks.

* * *

**June 18th, 25 days**

"What do you think we're having for dinner tonight?" Elektra's sprawled out on the bed with books and papers scattered around her.

"Pot roast." Skye answers automatically, her eyes never leaving the page in front of her. She's not even reading anything. Just staring.

"How do you know?"

"Trust me."

"I'll bet you five bucks you're wrong." Elektra smiles slowly.

"Alright."

Skye'll win this silly bet. She's been able smell the pot roast beginning to stew away for the half-hour.

Considering that the kitchen is two floors below them, she shouldn't be able to.

* * *

**June 19th, 24 days**

She's crying for the thousandth time, trying not to be heard. Overwhelmed, she grips the back of her desk chair and squeezes as she tries to calm herself down through the tremulous breaths.

The wood splinters under her hands.

* * *

**June 20th, 23 days**

Her dreams are filled with gleaming eyes and the taste of blood.

* * *

**June 21st, 22 days**

"Shit." Skye hisses through her teeth violently. Blood beads up quickly along the length of the cut on her palm. Screwing around with a box cutter to make a project for a class she doesn't care about isn't worth this. Generally, people might get time off if their best friend dies.

Skye's insistence on continuing on at school has raised a couple of eyebrows. It's gained her some nun points but she doesn't care much about what they think of her. Maybe when she was young and so caught up in fantasies of being adopted by them she had put some value on their thoughts of her. Disillusionment had torn those feelings from her for the most part. Families weren't going to keep her around and the nuns would undoubtedly kick her to the curb the moment that she turned eighteen.

She wrinkles her nose and wipes her hand against her towel. Great, she's going to get a lecture about being more careful. Blah, blah, blah. Frustration flares up in her chest as she stares down at the presentation board absently. What's the point? Why should she care about 'social studies' or a project that's coming at the end of the damn year? Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it well reading through a history written by the victors of wars feels about the same as taking any propaganda at its word.

Miles would've laughed it off with her. They would've tossed it aside and gone for a walk. He'd have said stupid thing and made offensive comments and been sincerely apologetic when she told him what an ass hat he was being. He would learn from his mistakes and, in turn, call her out on hers. They weren't wholly best friends and they weren't wholly lovers. He'd been family. The closest she had to it.

The stings fades from her hand and grows at the corners of her eyes. Skye breathes deeply, steadying herself. Okay. Now for a bandage. Tossing the towel carelessly onto her bed, she pulls open one of her small desk drawers. This proves to be unnecessary when she glances down to check the bleeding.

There's no sign of anything wrong with her hand.

* * *

**June 22nd, 21 days**

"Guess doing that project was pointless." Skye mutters without any attempt at discretion. This is especially true considering that she's going from a traditional schedule to a year-round one. Considering that she's been driven three hours to a completely different county for her newest foster family. Mr. Peterson looks at her reproachfully. She shuts up.

It's not a family though.

The man who comes to the door of the admittedly large house is very much alone. Skye glances up at Mr. Peterson questioningly as he introduces him as Phil Coulson. A single man taking in foster kids? She'd been exposed to enough horror stories from other kids and in her own life to think that this was a good idea. He doesn't look scary. There's nothing lecherous in his expression. In fact, he has genuine curiosity on his face. Hell, she might even take the leap and say that he could be excited about this whole arrangement.

"You must be Mary Sue—"

"Skye." She cuts him off quickly. Might as well take the leap.

"You prefer to be called Skye?" He asks. She considers him for a long few minutes. It doesn't seem like he's judging her.

"Yes. Yes, sir." The familiar fear crawls up her throat so that she has to swallow it down thickly, keeping her gaze as steady as she can. Stare down the bull, Miles always told her with a kiss to the forehead, show the fosters that you aren't going to be stepped on. She's never had the confidence to do it before, not really. Now seems like a good time.

"Skye it is." His gaze drops to the plastic garbage bag clutched in her hands. Sickly hot embarrassment rushes to her face. There's going to be pity, isn't there? There's always pity when they first see how she has to carry her belongings around. Alternatively, the more experienced foster parents regard it with nonchalance. Most kids cart around their material possessions like this.

His face shows neither.

"So." Skye idly starts, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "What do I call you?"

"Coulson. Phil. Mr. Coulson. Whatever you're most comfortable with." It's a simple answer that leaves her perplexed because he doesn't clarify a single preference for how he'd like to be addressed. She has the options.

* * *

**June 23rd, 20 days**

Before she starts at her new school, Skye finds herself leaning on the kitchen counter as she watches her new foster father go about cooking breakfast for the two of them.

"You cook a lot, _Phil_?"

He doesn't even look up as he answers, "Not really. Can't say it's a skill of mine. Working on it though."

* * *

**June 29th, 14 days**

By the the time her first week draws to a close, Skye's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. At times, she baits him by changing up what she calls him. She knows that he talks to her social worker and someone named Melinda about her. Even from her room, if she concentrates hard enough, she finds that she can listen in on the conversations.

She doesn't know why or how but it is what it is.

He hasn't said a single negative thing about her. In fact, all that he really says is that she's cautious and reserved. Apparently she likes to test boundaries and challenge authority all while waiting for some sort of retaliation. Okay, it's true, but she hadn't realized that he was watching her that closely with the amount of freedom that he gives her.

Not that she has anything to do with her free time.

"No, I don't think she's made any friends yet." He's saying to this Melinda on the phone. "She will though. She's a good kid… It'll take some time. Skye's been through a lot… Yeah, I told you about her friend."

Her freakish eavesdropping ability rapidly turns into a curse because now she can't stop listening. He talks about Miles and all she can do is press her hands to her ears in the hope that it might help though it never has before. Miles Lydon, tragic young victim of an animal mauling. The cops had summed it up to drunken stumbling around somewhere he shouldn't have been. No one had listened to her when she'd insisted that she didn't remember Miles having more than one drink at the party. Just one. Definitely not enough to get him wasted enough to wander off.

* * *

**July 4th, 8 days**

Coulson, now that she's settled on just calling him that, has insisted that she come out to the Independence Day parade. Usually this would be—No, she doesn't need to think about this. The sun is falling behind the horizon, people are queuing up at various carts filled with fried snacks that made her mouth water, children are running amok around their parents or with sparklers, and her own classmates keep making appearances in the bustling crowd.

Yep, this was definitely one of those places where everyone pretty much knew everyone else. Granted, she'd gotten that impression clear enough on her first day at school with the curious sidelong looks people didn't think she would notice and whispers that they didn't think she could hear. However, as she stands with Coulson and watches, it's just made that much clearer how much of a community this place really is.

"You want something?" Coulson distracts her from people watching by holding out a couple of crisp bills. He smiles at her confusion. "Feel free to get whatever you want. Maybe talk to someone if you want to. Have fun."

The 'try' is implied but they both know that it's there.

Plucking the money from his hands with a sheepish word of thanks, Skye decides that it can't hurt to grab a funnel cake or something equally unhealthy. She almost wants to ask if he really trusts her with money but he's started talking to a woman she hears him call Maria. Well, Skye shoves the bills into her pocket securely, might as well go off and do as the guy asked. She could have fun.

Maybe she's just not been the most communal person but she's never quite seen this much excitement for damn fireworks before. Everyone stops to talk to their friends, reaching out to wave or embrace when they make contact. There are even more kids kicking around a soccer ball. Middle schoolers, she thinks. Her classmates are self-segregated but occasionally acknowledge other little groups of their peers while ignoring others. But, hey, it's high school. How wonderful.

And then, as always, there are the assholes who refuse to leave people alone. Though she's noticed momentary barbed comments tossed in the hallway or called out loudly to try to publicly humiliate, she hasn't seen this flat-out bullying. It'd clearly just been a matter of time. The wonder twin Maximoffs are currently making quite the spectacle by indulging in a timeless bully cliché of tossing this kid's belongings over his head to one another. And it's not just them because it's never _just _the two of them. They have their whole little group of buddies as well.

Speaking of, John is getting a bit too lewd in his comments towards the guy's friend. From his openly filthy gaze and sloppy smile, Skye irritably concludes that he's had too much to drink. The pretty girl with him is carefully taking measured steps to put distance between herself and him but refuses to back down from his staring as she heatedly snaps at him, lips moving quickly. He closes the space between them again and Skye feels anger bubble up to overflowing faster than she can understand.

The kids behind her shout through the pounding in her head, "Incoming!"

"Hey, Allerdyce!" In a smooth motion, she's twisted around, seized the ball cresting down towards her head out of the air, and turned back to throw it right at his face. Skye has never been an athlete. Her talents and passions reside in the realms of coding and technology. Computers make more sense than people can ever hope to. She can speak their languages fluently. So when she throws the soccer ball at John, she doesn't expect it to get anywhere close to him. She certainly doesn't expect for it to be timed just right so that it smashes right into his nose so that he's sent stumbling backwards with a yelp.

It's enough of a distraction that the Maximoffs lose their victim in the ensuing rush to get over to John's side to check on him. The sickly-sweet tang of blood hits her tongue when she breathes in. Sure enough, John's clutching his nose against an outpouring of blood when he gets to his feet. Thick, red, gleaming even from this distance. It might as well be no distance at all. He's stabbing his finger in her direction, shouting. Screaming, even. His lips are forming words that she can hear if she cares to. Her own lips are set tightly in a foreign smile. Clenching her fists tightly at her side, she can feel how clammy they've become. It might've been a curiosity had her attentions not been on walking towards John.

"Hey, Skye!" Large hands twist her around on the spot so that she's rudely forced to break from her purpose. Skye sucks in a strangled breath. Shoving her shaking hands against his chest, all she wants to do is make him go away so she can get back to… to whatever it was she wanted to do. He doesn't budge. Damn, it's like pushing against a brick wall of muscle.

"_What_?" Skye snarls out the question viciously. This is Grant. Grant Ward if she's not mistaken. And, yes, there's his constant buddy standing right over his shoulder. Antoine Triplett. Trip. Whatever. Trip's focus, unlike Grant's, is on John and the Maximoffs. Grant just keep staring down at her. It's getting really annoying. They've never even talked and he has the audacity to come barge in like he's in charge. Typical.

"Walk it off." Grant sounds amicable enough but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Skye frowns, squinting up at him. There's something about him. It happens every time she walks by him or Trip or one of their friends after school. It's like having her attention gripped by a magnet. He lowers his voice and repeats the words more forcefully. "Walk. It. Off."

* * *

**July 5th, 7 days**

"It was an accident."

Skye lies for the umpteenth time.

"If Skye says it was just an accident then I'm sure that's what it was."

Coulson doesn't believe her.

"Right. Of course."

Neither does Mr. Peterson.

* * *

**July 6th, 6 days**

"You never told me who he was bothering." Coulson says conversationally during lunch. They're just hanging out in the backyard with sandwiches because Skye's discovered that, eh, Coulson's not actually that bad to spend time around. He hasn't tried to intrude on her space. He gives her freedom and respect. Hell, he'd even come in with a new laptop for her that morning with his only comment being that he heard she liked computers.

"Who?" Skye picks at the lettuce sticking out from between the bread slices.

"The Allerdyce boy."

"No one. Like I said—" Skye shrugs.

"Right, right, an accident. I'd just like to know if he was bothering someone before the accident."

"A girl." Skye admits. It's hard to keep her urge to smile in check. "And his friends were picking on her friend while he was being disgusting with her. Like anyone with eyes should've been able to see that she was uncomfortable and that he was drunk never mind the totally blatant bullying of her friend. No one stepped in though."

"Sounds like instantaneous karma." Coulson remarks mildly. "A happy accident. But Skye?"

No threats to get rid of her, no talking down to her. He's just sitting there gazing out at the spacious backyard. They're talking and none of it feels scary. It's even comfortable. This time Skye can't stop herself from breaking out into a genuine smile. "What's up, Coulson?"

"Try not to have any more accidents like that." Her smile falters until he continues on to say, "The Maximoffs and Allerdyces are a pain in the ass to deal with."

* * *

**July 8th, 4 days**

Skye's in the middle of pushing her food around on the tray in front of her when she hears her name. Not a single person sits with her so it's easy to conclude that this is one of those freaking auditory moments that she definitely should not be having but does anyway.

"Go talk to Skye already!" The first voice is male, distinctly Scottish. This is the boy that the Maximoffs had been pushing around. Fitz. She'd recognized them at the fireworks but hadn't been able to pick out their names.

She glances around as casually as she can to figure out where they're sitting. Yes, of course, they're at the other end of the cafeteria. Fitz is actually staring at her until she meets his eyes. Flushing, he immediately averts his eyes and leans in closer to his friend, gesturing with his plastic fork.

"Just go and get it bloody over with, Simmons." He sounds impatient. She wonders how long he's been trying to get Simmons—Jemma Simmons—to do whatever it is she wants to do.

"I can't—Not right _now_!" Jemma says hurriedly. "And it's not as though I even condone violence as a method of discouraging harassment but—"

"You're the one who wanted to tell her thank you. I'm just as well leaving the whole thing alone. Just because she hit stupid John in his stupid face with a football doesn't mean that we have to say anything at all. Might be better if we didn't associate with her at all." Fitz grouses. He looks distinctly disgruntled about what she assumes is just meant to be gratitude. Sort of gratitude. Close enough. Skye squares her shoulders and sits up straighter, pleased. Even if her methods are a little rash it doesn't stop them from being effective. She hasn't won any points with Fitz but his displeasure is balanced out by Jemma's presumed thankfulness.

Miles would've been proud. The thought makes her smug smirk waver. Being suddenly accompanied at her empty table by Grant, Trip and their various other friends gathering into seats as though they'd been invited. She can easily put some of their names to faces—America, Kate, Bobby—while others fall squarely into the apathetic column of people she'd never bothered to learn the names of in the first place. It doesn't matter, named or unnamed. She definitely doesn't plan on sticking around all of the same.

* * *

**July 10th, 2 days**

Her computer science teacher doesn't enjoy being corrected as she finds out. Shuffling her feet against the ground and glowering as though it had somehow wronged her like her egoist teacher, she sits outside of the principal's office. Because, apparently, students just aren't allowed to correct the teachers when they're attempting to show students how to do something the completely wrong way.

If he didn't want to be made to look like an idiot in front of the whole class then maybe he should have been teaching them the correct way. The way that, you know, didn't make him look stupid. It would have saved Skye a lot of grief right now if he hadn't made the mistake to begin with. It would have saved them both even more if he hadn't called her insolent when she tried to stay polite in her explanation for where he'd gone wrong.

"You have a habit of getting yourself in trouble, don't you?" He's sounds far too amused for his own good.

Super. Just the person she'd wanted to see.

"I corrected the teacher. What do you want?" While starting out fine, the words rapidly become more aggressive than originally intended. Skye doesn't apologize. Trip just stands there looking at her for a long moment. He has this soft, knowing smile that's as maddening as Grant's presumptuousness. They remain in silence until he plops himself down on the bench right next to her.

"You going to be alright, Skye?"

She narrows her eyes.

"You come here just to check up on me?" On the one hand, she's joking. On the other, he just smiles again. It hits her. He had come just to check on her. "How did you even know—"

"Try to keep a level head. You'll be just fine." Trip cuts her off with a nod before he leaves. There's a double layer of meaning to his words that makes her heart jump nervously.

Bristling, she wants to reach out to grab him but Coulson decides to make an appearance right at that moment. He doesn't look pleased but he's not angry either. What she can say is that he's clearly worried because he takes a good three minutes just to confirm that she's absolutely unharmed. When he learns the reason for this oh-so urgent meeting, he even looks bewildered with a touch of unimpressed.

"That's it?" The way he asks confirms that he'd been expecting a disaster to have happened.

Skye nods, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "That's it."

Coulson spends the next hour totally reprimanding the principal no matter how many times he tries to get a defensive word in edgewise. He demands to know if a teacher's ego is truly so important that it warrants interrupting a teenage girl's education even though she'd been polite and right. Skye wishes that she could take a picture of the look on the principal's face. Too bad she's far too busy trying to keep her face straight. Bursting out into laughter wouldn't help anyone no matter how good it would feel.

Besides, she's not sure that anything can quite beat this feeling clenching in her chest while she listens to Coulson. He's not assumed the worst in her. They haven't been together long but he's still showing more faith in her than the Pierces ever bothered to. Or the Sitwells. Or any of the other families before them. He's actively defending her. Sitting there behind him, watching, is the most exhilarating thing. Her heart pounds, it's hard not to smile, and all she wants to do is stand up and give him a hug.

The words of gratitude stick to her tongue even long after school is over. They're just hanging out on the sofa watching this documentary about reptiles on BBC. Coulson's eyes are glued to the screen but that doesn't stop him from smiling when he notices her staring, picking up the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and offering it to her. Flushed, Skye mumbles her thanks quickly as she grabs a fistful of popcorn and ungraciously stuffs it in her mouth to keep herself from saying something unnecessarily stupid out of a moment of emotion.

With Miles, she'd had every escape from the reality of her life in the world. Booze, sketchy abandoned buildings, his house, his friends' houses, video games on his couch, road trips, sex, cuddling. He had been the only family in her life but he hadn't been a _home_. Home was a mythical type of thing meant for other people but not for her. This right here, though, must be what people are talking about when they say they feel at home. Feeling the familiar burn of her eyes, she ducks her head momentarily. Breathing slowly, she tries to clear her throat as subtly as she can. The resulting sound is the farthest thing from under the radar.

There's no way that Coulson doesn't notice but he's kind enough not to ask questions. Since she has no excuses for why she's trying to get away with furtively brushing the back of her hand against her eyes she's glad that he doesn't ask. The only sign he gives of his awareness is during a commercial. He gets up to fetch something from the kitchen and gently squeezes her shoulder as he passes.

Skye's curled up in bed later when she realizes just how badly she needs this to work out. This stupid town and her own freakish whatever-the-hells, she can gladly get used to this if it means hanging onto the relationship she's building with Coulson. He's the first foster parent to make her feel wanted. She tucks her soft blanket up under her chin, staring at the gently pulsing light of her laptop on her desk. Christ, she wants this so bad.

* * *

**July 11th, 1 day**

"You feeling okay, Skye?" Grant's voice cuts through her concentration like a harsh blow horn.

"Go fuck yourself." Skye snaps immediately, fingers curling into her palms tightly. The librarian peers out from behind one of the nearby book stacks to shush her. Anger rears its head suddenly, hot and overwhelming like an fever. It dissipates as quickly as it's come. Her entire point in coming to the library is to be left alone to work. Of course Ward can't just leave her alone, can he?

She doesn't know what game he's playing but clearly he has his own motivations for persistently intruding into her life. He's so unimpressed by her outburst that all he does is flash that pseudo-charming smile that she's becoming too familiar with. He's turning to leave but she can't allow that just yet. She has a question gnawing at her that she really should have thought of before giving him the satisfaction of being called back. "No, wait. Just… Wait."

Grant's broad back is to her.

"Why did you send Trip to check on me?" No point is dancing around her question. Annoyingly enough, he doesn't even look surprised.

"Just trying to look out for you." He tugs out the chair across from her to take a seat.

"That's a terrible answer. _Why_?" Surely there's a better reason.

He shrugs. His eyes tell a very different story. They're filled with mirth. She knows just by looking him in the eye, that he has very real motives for repeatedly approaching her. And understanding that is great and everything but it's not helpful without specific details. Trip walks by the table with Kate. He claps a hand on Grant's back and flashes a smile her way.

"Nice to know the peanut gallery follows you around." Skye follows their progress. It turns out that she's not even exaggerating. Not only are Trip and Kate wandering around but America, Bobby and a couple of other of their friends are divided into pairs and spread around he room.

"We take care of each other." His nails are rapping against the hard wood of the table. Tap, tap, tap. Every hard impact sets her nerves on edge. Tap, tap, tap. Skye sets her jaw stiffly. Her nose begins to wrinkle in a flat-out snarl that catches her off-guard. He should be startled. He should think that she's being a freak because, hell, she is. Instead, he's just leaning in closer and smiling. "Do you have plans for tomorrow night?"

Bitter anger seeps from her muscles; the relief of eased tension allows her some relaxation. It'd be a welcome sight to be able to figure out why her temper is threaded on the most feeble of triggers lately. Anything from a typo to being reprimanded by teachers seems to run the risk of setting her off. Eyeing Grant, she frowns as she properly considers just what he's asked her. He's not going to be so helpful as to magically have answers for her but he obviously wants to do something.

"You're asking me out. On a date." Skye stares at him. "Seriously."

"No." Skye raises an eyebrow. Grant winks. "Just agree to come by tomorrow night."

Going over to his house is a disaster waiting to happen. It's the sort of situation that will undoubtedly result in immense regret and anger and self-loathing. Not a single positive outcome comes to mind. Yet, Skye nods curtly instead of turning him down with a snide remark. Immediately she drops her eyes to the book in front of her so that she doesn't have to see his dumb triumphant face.

* * *

**July 12th, Full Moon**

There's no such thing as a werewolf.

It doesn't matter that luminous and unnaturally colored eyes gaze out at her from every occupied space in Grant's backyard. They watch, wait and track her every pace across the ground. Sometimes they flicker back to where Grant is standing tall in front of her. He's a solid mass of muscle. All hard edges, scruff, pearly perfect teeth and bright brown eyes until, no, it's different. It doesn't make sense but it definitely doesn't have to mean what he says it means.

It doesn't matter that when she focuses she can punch her fist through solid planks of wood. That concrete even reaches its breaking point under her knuckles doesn't have to mean a damn thing. She can hear heartbeats, rapid and strong, from an unusual distance but that's just a fluke. She's a freak, after all. Hasn't she always been like that? Just a defective foster kid that no family wanted until Coulson came into her life. Smells are easily distinguished from each other. She can even follow specific scents after Trip just calmly tells her to try it but that has to be her imagination playing up.

It doesn't matter that when she gets angry and totally loses it on Grant, his face changes from handsome to something from a nightmare. Vicious canines bare down on her threateningly. Elongated claws take up the space where his average nails had been. They prick at her skin where he grips her tightly. Most shocking beyond an appearance she can only describe as demonic as it stares her down is the eyes. There's no more brown in his irises. Instead, they're glowing. Glowing and red. Fucking red of all colors. He opens his elongated maw and snaps his teeth together inches from her face.

There's no such thing as a werewolf. She reminds herself of this as the people around her begin screeching and yowling and making an assortment of sounds that are distinctly inhuman in nature. When her heart leaps into overdrive and tearing pain slams her to the ground on her knees, she reminds herself again. No such thing as werewolves. Her breathe comes out ragged in a harsh canine pant. There's no such thing as werewolves.

Grant moves away causing Skye looks up through teary eyes at the monster that's taken his place. She knows that it's Trip even though it doesn't look like him. Every firing synapse in her brain tells her, unmistakably, that this thing in front of her is Trip. She's not allowed to dwell on it long. Her bones crack of their own volition until the sound that erupts from her mouth is so foreign that it takes her a few moments of shaky breathing to even realize that it had come from her.

Werewolves aren't real.

Skye stares down at the ground. Paws—and that is the only word she can think to use for the mix of paw and hand touching the ground—dig into the dirt every time she shifts her weight. This is familiar. Distant, yes, but logged somewhere in her memory all the same. Skye shakily extends out one densely furred arm. It moves when she wants it to. Her claws curl against her palm into the closest thing she can make to a fist. Nothing about the gesture feels natural. Quickly, she shakes her paw out.

Struggling to form the question of how this is all happening—and if it was seriously happening and she isn't having some elaborate nightmare—her lips don't work the way that she's used to. Trying to speak English demands parts of her body that don't seem to be there anymore. A piteous whine bursts from her mouth instead of questions she desperately needs to ask.

Immediately, a long muzzle is rubbing against her own. Wet noses tap against her head and jaw. Tongues loll out to be dragged over her fur. Most of the bodies cuddling up to her own are as massive as hers but there are still others that resemble the sleek dog that Miles had hit with his car. Clearly, dog is the wrong word. These are tall wolves that move quickly in and out of the crowd of hideous abominations that make up the rest of them.

The wolves look for all intents and purposes as though they should be roaming around Yellowstone. With varied coats blended together beautifully from blacks, whites, browns, and greys, Skye might've sat to stare at them in awe. In another situation where she isn't this thing. She assumes that she looks like the rest of the more mangy wolf counterparts. Hulking, hunched over monsters. That's what they are. They have pronounced outlines of vertebrae jutting out along their spines and unkempt fur of different colors ruffled out. From a distance, they look like giant canines. Up close, their faces hold just enough human resemblance to keep them from passing as man or dog.

Watching Grant prance around, graceful and attractive, she's struck by the urge to laugh. This is fucking absurd. Hysterical laughter begs to be heard. The only voice she can give it is by following her first urge to toss her head back in the air to howl. Werewolves don't exist. They're creatures that are supposed to make up teen fantasy novels alongside annoying vampires. Her roaring cry is the only thing disrupting the night like this for miles and miles.

Trip's the first one to step up alongside her. Then Bobby and Kate. Then America. Each in turn listens just for a few seconds before adding their songs to the din. Grant's the last one to join in. If she just keeps howling, she'll wake up. This is a dream and she'll wake up. It's the same concept as screaming herself awake. Keep going loud enough, long enough, and it'll pay off in spades. Coulson will already be down in the kitchen trying to poach eggs. Skye will be wrapped up in her plush comforter, her head tucked into her pillows as she tries to hide from the sunlight.

What makes her forceful howling even more frantic is that she can understand every other beast around her. Every slight lilt has a different meaning but the overall message of the night is the same: they're welcoming her to their family. Tonight, she wants to make herself disappear thinking about it, they're all celebrating. She's just waiting to wake up.

* * *

**July 13th, 29 days**

It's not a dream.

* * *

**July 15th, 27 days**

"I am not one of your lackeys, Grant." Skye's had it up to here. Getting home after the full moon had dropped from the sky so she could turn back into a normal human being who didn't have anything to do with fairy tales had been more difficult than expected. Mostly the difficulty could be accounted to waking up naked in the woods with no idea how to get back out the following morning. Not a pleasant surprise to be surrounded by a dozen or so other nude bodies.

"You're just playing hard to get." Grant's grinning at her. "If you haven't noticed, you've already done the initiation. Everyone likes you, too. So…"

"So _nothing_." Skye hisses.

It costs her something to admit that since the night with the pack there have been notable improvements in her life. She can go about her days without fearing for the house's well-being if she gets frustrated. Skye picks at her cuticles, scrunching her nose in displeasure. The bouts of volatile anger that had been plaguing her had evened out. Being around his posse of fur balls had had its benefits. That doesn't mean that she has to continue sticking around them.

"Skye, come on. Be reasonable. We need each other. We're not meant to be solitary. Maybe you used to but you aren't even _human_ anymore so that's changed. None of us are. And, anyway, you can't pretend you're better than any of us. I know what you've done, Skye." The condescension prompts her to impatiently snap her book shut with a heavy thud. Being buddies with the people who've pushed her into realizing that she's little more than a monster that children fear is under the bed isn't high on her priority list. She doesn't even stick around long enough to ask him what the hell he's talking about.

* * *

**July 16th, 26 days**

Skye knows who it is before she comes over. What she's not expecting is the cupcake that's placed right down on the table in front of her. Considering the sweetness that fills her nostrils, she knows she should have smelled it coming before it got anywhere close to her.

"Hello, Skye." Jemma's voice is far too optimistically cheery. Skye looks up curiously and then back down pointedly. "Ah, yes, well, I just thought that I should find a way to thank you. For what you did on the Fourth of July, I mean. The Wanda and Pietro have never really—Plus with the addition of John… Anyway, I wanted you to know that I—_we _are very grateful that you stepped in when you did."

Every fiber of Jemma's being is brimming with sincerity. With the time she's had to spend around Grant lately, it's refreshing to see. She carefully pulls the cupcake a little closer to her, smiling.

"Thank you."

The brevity of her answer makes Jemma's brow crease uncertainly. A heartbeat later realization has crossed her face. Grimacing, she apologetically says, "I'm so sorry. Of course, you don't know who I—"

"Jemma Simmons." Skye interrupts her. Leaning sideways slightly to see behind her, Skye nods in Fitz's direction across the computer lab because, of course, he keeps glancing up to watch their interaction curiously. Maybe he's not a big fan of her because of her standoffishness so far but Jemma doesn't seem to share the sentiments. Clearly. "And that's Fitz. You're always together."

"Right. I didn't think that you would know… Well." Jemma trails off sheepishly, pink tinging her cheeks.

"I may not have any friends or whatever but, no, nope, not totally oblivious. Obviously. Because I do know who you two are. Points for me, right?" This is refreshing. She feels more like herself than she has since the car accident with Miles. Thanks could be given to Grant for inviting her along to that stupid full moon gathering in the first place but she's not going to give him that satisfaction. Not to his face. Unfortunately, she has to admit that he's right about maybe not being alone. Being on her own at school day after day is making her restless. Loneliness hasn't been a problem because Miles had been around.

"Of course." Jemma looks back over her shoulder towards Fitz just for a few seconds before turning back with a tentative smile. "Would you like to come join me and Fitz? Not that you have to or anything but if you'd like some company we'd be happy to give it."

What she needs now are friends. Ones of her own making.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, that sounds good." Skye rises to collect her belongings. This is a good place to start.

* * *

**July 28th, 14 days**

Fitz hasn't quite taken to her being around yet. He's a confident, disgustingly clever sort of boy who reacts to her newfound regularity as though she's a gnat buzzing around his ears. She knows this for certain because she's heard him grumbling to Jemma sometimes when she leaves the room.

"Oh, bloody—" Fitz dissolves into frustrated swearing, his fingers pounding a bit harder against the keyboard in front of him. Every time he jams his finger down onto the 'enter' key the screen flashes to show that it's denying him entrance into the system.

"Silly Fitz." Jemma says gently, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "Has your mum gone and changed the password again?"

If his abrupt glare he shoots her way is anything to go by then the answer's probably yes.

"She's not going to be able to answer the phone for another couple of hours." Fitz groans.

"Well, maybe we could go to my house instead—"

"No way, that's totally not necessary. I can change it in like two minutes." Skye both look at her quizzically. The confusion is only heightened when she pulls out her phone with a smile on her face.

It turns out that hacking into his computer with nothing but a smartphone is exactly the thing that she needs to do to finally get an approving looking from Fitz.

* * *

**August 9th, 1 day**

"Are you coming to the movies with us tomorrow?" Fitz twists himself around on the sofa to look over at her. They've all just been collectively studying for a couple of hours now. Jemma's mother and father have come in, made friendly conversation and gone to leave them to their books. Skye's never been big on studying but with being around both Einsteins so often it's been impossible not to pick a few things up from them.

.

"Tomorrow?" Skye looks up and Jemma pauses her quiet explanation of mitosis versus meiosis. Skye might be decently smart enough in her own way but biology has never been a strong suit. Grinning, she says, "Yeah, sure. I'm totally up for—Wait. I can't, I'm so sorry. Totally flaked out but I have this family sort of thing. Foster family check-ins. My social worker has to come by and who knows how long he'll take."

She hasn't mentioned being a foster kid until now but if there was ever a time to break that out as a distraction than this is it. It's better than sounding like she's blowing them off for no reason. The unfortunate reality is that she's going to have to figure out what the hell to do with herself by tomorrow evening when the moon rises high into the sky.

* * *

**August 10th, Full Moon**

"It's going to be hell if you're just by yourself." Grant says when they're in English together. Skye does her best not to look back at him. He likes to sit behind her. Even when he doesn't say anything, she can feel his eyes burning into the back of her head. "Nights like this are easier in groups. You have more control with others around and, trust me, unless you've been working on control by yourself… Well. I guess you already know how that turns out."

"I never know what the hell you're implying but, please, just shut up." Skye's pencil cracks in half in her hands. Control. She definitely needs to work on that for everyone's sake. Especially her own.

"You really don't know?" Grant speaks up again softly just when she thinks that he's piped down for good. She doesn't answer. He doesn't persist.

When class is over, there's no cocky smile when he watches her leave.

* * *

**August 21st, 18 days**

"Skye, we need to talk."

Skye doesn't spare Grant so much as a glance.

* * *

**September 8th, Full Moon**

"About tonight—"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I have some chains and Coulson had to go on a business trip. Locking myself down in the basement. It'll be fine." She hopes that it works out as well as she's trying to convince herself it will. s

Trip frowns as he watches her.

"You don't have to be alone."

"Trip, I'm fine." Skye wants to be as overtly hostile with him as she is with Grant. The fact of the matter is that Trip has never puffed himself up like peacock or acted superior to her in any way. He's been kind and quiet. Maybe his association with Grant isn't exactly a good decision in her books but she's not going to judge him for it because she doesn't know their history.

Trip has an odd expression on his face. Regret, sadness, sympathy. It's hard to put a finger on just which emotion is dominant.

"You really need to talk to Grant." He pauses and then adds, "Seriously. There's something you need to know."

"Yeah, sure." Skye waves it off. She has no intention of doing any such thing.

* * *

**September 24th, 14 days**

"Is this a cupcake?" Jemma doesn't need to ask but there's such a confused look on her face that Skye has to stop herself from laughing. It takes a lot of effort. Her nose is scrunched up, her brow is furrowed and Skye can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she tries to figure out just what the occasion is.

Truth be told, there is no special occasion.

Having spent a good part of the night in relishing the fact that she's actually forming relationships in this place, that people care for her and want her around, has made her more sentimental than she'd like to be. Despite the nagging voice constantly popping up to taunt her about how this is all going to end someday very soon because of an inevitable mistake on her part, she's actually started to combat it. So far, this is the longest that she's stayed in any foster home. Ever.

Coulson has yet to show any sign of getting tired of her being around. His friend who comes over sometimes, though Skye thinks them to be something other than platonic friends, even likes her enough to try to get to know her. When she isn't getting help from Fitz or Jemma, Melinda May offers to help her with this and that when she's over at the house. There's even some amount of cautious affection in her voice when she speaks to her. Fitz is someone that she can easily talk computers with though he's not quite as good as she is when it comes to hacking through systems with minimal resources. Jemma patiently helps her with parts of science that she doesn't understand and offers gentle, fond smiles whenever she makes a stupid pun.

She's never had a huge support system before. Now things are different. Now she has this group of people who genuinely care about her well-being. What's scarier still is how much she cares for theirs as well. Their happiness, their fears, their passions, their thoughts. Every part of them is important because they're important. They are her everything.

"Yes, Miss Science Genius, it's a cupcake." Skye grins.

"But… Why?" Jemma's smiling but still bewildered.

"It's a thank you." Skye sits down across from her. Clearly Jemma still isn't following along because there's just blank incomprehension in her eyes. Heat rushing to her face, Skye self-consciously pushes her hair back out of her face where it's messily fallen. "Thank you for taking a chance on me, I mean. I know I wasn't, like, the cool popular new kid or whatever and it's not like I was trying to be a hero at the fireworks thing but you gave me a cupcake and you took a chance on getting to know me. Not everyone would have done that and I'm not super talented at making friends. So… Thank you."

Her face isn't the only one that's obviously red by the time she's done speaking. Skye sheepishly averts her eyes; she folds her fidgeting hands in her lap because, wow, way to sound like such an emotional mush pot. Now she's gone overboard. Was that all stupidly weird of her to even say? Maybe that's the sort of thing that she's supposed to keep to herself. She can't bake so it's not like the high quality sort of cupcake that Jemma had made for her. The mix had come from a box and the icing isn't quite how she wants it to be but she's tried her best to make it look like Jemma's favorite tie. What if Jemma thinks that's stupid?

"Thank you." Jemma says affectionately.

Skye raises her gaze again. A smile tugs uncontrollably at the corners of her mouth. Jemma is all but glowing in her happiness.

"Yeah. Well, you're pretty cool."

* * *

**November 6th, Full Moon**

"Look, I need to know. How do you become that… that little wolf thing… you know?" Skye doesn't want to ask but she has to.

"What?" Trip scrutinizes her with a raised eyebrow.

"Why can Grant and some of the others change differently? Some of them were just… They looked like normal wolves. And they seemed a lot calmer." Skye's been dying to ask. Her body is wracked by agony every full moon so far only for her to descend into rampant panic or rage. It's become necessary to hastily take the chains she has at home, her backpack with spare clothes, and jump down from her window—the ability to do this easily without discomfort is sort of cool, all things considered—just so she can run as fast as she can to the nearby forest so she can secure herself to a tree.

It's worked so far but it feels like pressing her luck to rely on that.

"Practice and force of will." He says simply. It's not a good enough answer.

"Practice." Skye repeats. "What sort of practice?"

"Talk to Grant. Hear me out before you blow me off, okay? He has something to tell you that you need to hear _and _he can answer your questions better than I can." Seeing her skeptical face, he smiles. "Just try it. Just a few minutes of talking. That's it."

"Fine." Skye slumps back in her chair, blowing out her cheeks irritably. "I'll give him five minutes."

WIthout those answers, that night she has to settle for making her secret escape from the house again.

* * *

**November 7th, 29 days**

"You have five minutes." Skye doesn't waste any time with preamble. "What is it that you are just dying to tell me?"

There's no trace of a smile on Grant's face when he responds with, "This isn't about medying."

"What?"

"My eyes. On the full moon, do you remember what color my eyes were?" At least he's getting right to the point.

"Red. Made you look like the spawn of hell." He looks mildly annoyed at the statement but he's not lingering on the subject. Stupidly, she feels a bit pleased with herself. She's actually in charge of this conversation direction wise and he's not challenging her on it. Standing a little straighter—not that it matters because he still towers over her like a damn skyscraper—she looks him squarely in the eye, daring him to waste the precious time she's giving to him right now.

"And what about the others?"

This takes a few seconds of consideration. She shrugs and says, "Orange-ish? Gold? Along that spectrum."

"And yours?"

"Gold, I guess. Hell if I know. It's not like I take the time to look into a mirror when I turn into a fairy tale monster from wonderland." This is going to be a pointless usage of her time after all, isn't it? He's going to draw this out for dramatic effect and then go off on some spiel about how she can't just roam around all by herself when she has a 'pack' ready and waiting for her—

"No."

Or not.

"And your point?" Skye huffs. "What are you getting at and why do I care?"

"Your eyes were blue, Skye." Grant says gravely as though that should mean something to her. Does he not understand that before all of this she had gone along with the rest of the world in assuming that big bad beasts going bump in the night weren't real? Whatever expertise he has on the subject, however he's acquired his knowledge, it really doesn't matter to her because her own is extensive enough to fill a teaspoon. As predicted before, here is the pointed pause where he's expecting a reaction from her about this information. Skye raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I didn't go to whatever Hogwarts you went to so you could learn about all of this. I spent my time learning about the regular things like computers and, you know, how to change a tire. Basic things." She's tempted to look down at her watch in order to make her point but Grant breathes out heavily with an unusually seriousness creasing his face.

He finally tells her.

She understands in a few heart-stopping seconds why she should care about that detail. She wishes she didn't.

* * *

**November 8th, 28 days**

Skye spends the day locked in her room because she finally can start stitching together the nightmares that have been attacking her unconsciousness since Miles's death.

* * *

**November 9th, 27 days**

Coulson tries to check on her.

Skye answers monosyllabically until he leaves.

* * *

**November 11th, 25 days**

There's no doubt about it. The screaming man in her dreams is Miles.

* * *

**November 15th, 21 days**

"Are you okay? I've just been worried and you're not quite acting like yourself lately—" Skye deletes the voicemail before she's done listening to it and Jemma's voice cuts off abruptly.

* * *

**November 17th, 19 days**

Every night, she sinks her fangs into his throat and rips it out in a shower of blood.

* * *

**November 19th, 17 days**

Skye realizes that she remembers him screaming her name in a plea. He'd known that it was her.

* * *

**November 30th, 6 days**

Coulson knocks on her door but she just curls herself tighter in her blankets in the hopes that not responding will make him leave her alone. If he comes in, she's going to have a hard time controlling herself like she needs to. If she has to then she'll get up long enough grab something to eat. She knows that he's been beyond worried about her for a couple of weeks now. It's not her intention to scare him like this or to make him think that he's doing something wrong but summoning the energy to pull herself out of bed is asking more than she can give.

The door opens anyway.

"I'll come down later, I promise, I just want to be alone." Skye doesn't bother rolling over when she speaks. Staring at the wall is far more welcoming than making eye contact with anyone. The more that she distances herself, the better off the people in her life will be. No one needs a rabid animal wrecking their lives. And that's exactly what she is, isn't it? A rabid, uncontrollably vicious animal. Not even Grant is like her.

As annoying as Grant can be, he has the glaring red eyes of a leader whereas Skye has the bright blue of a killer. Gold, red, and blue. Three colors of eyes for three types of wolves. Red for the head honcho of a pack, gold for the Joe Average of the wolves, and blue for the murderers of innocents. He doesn't know why that is. He'd admitted that when she asked. It's just how things work. They live in a world where werewolves are a real thing so, hell, why not have special supernatural rules as well?

"Skye?" That's definitely not Coulson's voice. Her voice sticks in her throat thickly. Jemma perches on the edge of her bed and her hand gently comes to rest on her elbow. Heat rushes to her face, burning guilt mixed with shame or frustration or sadness. And fear. There's plenty of fear. Her fingers curl tightly against her pillow.

"You shouldn't be here." Skye mumbles.

"Talk to me?" Jemma's knuckles are gently stroking her back.

Jemma shouldn't be here but not because Skye doesn't want her here. Because of intentional avoidance on Skye's part, they haven't spent any time together as of late. Even after a number of concerned voicemails left by both herself and Fitz, Skye's been avoiding them because it's for their own good. It really is. They're such good, wonderful people. They don't need to be put in danger by her. If she selfishly clings onto her friends, they'll end up regretting it. Skye tries to speak but instead a strangled sob comes out instead.

Jemma has her gently wrapped in her arms in no time at all as though she's just been waiting for a cue to act. Instead of fisting her hands in her blankets, Skye's pressed close with her hands bunched in her shirt and face buried into her shoulder instead.

* * *

**December 4th, 2 days**

When Skye wakes up screaming in the early hours of the morning, Jemma's already brushing her hair away from where it sticks to her sweaty forehead and pressing her cheek to her temple. Fitz mumbles something about chamomile tea for the lot of them as he rubs his eyes and stumbles from her bedroom.

Coulson's made exceptions about friends staying over on school nights.

* * *

**December 7th, 28 days**

"Teach me." Skye says the moment that Grant opens the front door.

Whatever his faults, at least he's willing enough to put things aside to help stop her from being a danger to the people she cares about most. There's no bitterness about her own wariness and occasional snaps in temper around him. He seems to have learned that she doesn't respond to him being an arrogant ass hat. It's a step forward for the two of them if nothing else.

By the time that she has to go back home, she knows a lot more than she did before about how werewolves work in the real world. He assigns her things to practice on her own to get a grip on how her body works now. He shows her that she can actively choose what to focus in on with any of her senses. He shows her that with a simple second of concentration, she can use her claws as a human instead of only as a wolf. Most significantly, he tells her just why his final form as a shifted wolf is different than hers.

Ending up as an in control and normal looking wolf instead of a hulking beast of fur and fangs is a matter of active discipline and frame of mind. One manifestation is only accessible when the individual in question is peaceful and confident enough with themselves to anchor their humanity. When they have that anchor, they can freely transition from one form to the other regardless of the time of month but especially during the full moon. The other, the more common and disfigured one, is born of anger and insecurity and sadness. Ones without a solid family, with blood on their hands, with deeply ingrained pains that they've never dealt, who have never learned control or aren't aware of what they are end up being the ones to take this form.

Like Skye, basically.

In the case of the latter situation, those people will always require a pack around them in order to keep a good grip on themselves during the full moons. Without anchors of their own, the pack provides a temporary substitute to help keep their wits about them. Being alone is why she doesn't remember what had happened with Miles only to have the events crop up in nightmares. Her consciousness had given way to purely animal instinct.

Skye frustratedly squints at her hands. Claws. All she needs is to make one tiny bit of progress. She falls under every high-risk category for a werewolf who can and probably will be dangerous to others. It doesn't have to stay that way. She's not going to let it stay that way no matter how much work that it takes. Things are going to be different. She flicks her wrist stiffly the way she'd seen Grant do earlier. Instead of her claws extending like knives, she's treated with the anticlimax of absolutely nothing happening.

This is going to take a while.

* * *

**December 15th, 20 days**

Blood fills her mouth when flesh gives way under fangs.

She wakes up to a damp pillow that she has to shove away immediately. A closer inspection when she calms down allows her the temporary relief of confirming that it's not drenched in his blood.

* * *

**December 23rd, 12 days**

Jemma's leaving with her parents in a few hours to head to London. Fitz and his family have already left with gift exchanges, dry smiles and half-joking promises of souvenirs. Skye, of course, is totally serious in her request for a special English teacup so that she can better fit in when she's at either of their houses. Jemma's not going to need any souvenirs since they'll be together at the same place for New Year's but, for now at least, she's just curled up on the sofa in the living room with Skye so that they can squeeze a final two episodes of Doctor Who in.

"Shame you won't be here for New Year's." Skye throws her a look of mock reproach. "Considering that you and Fitz are abandoning me for jolly old London with your crazy Time Lords and fish and chipsand Gordan Ramsay."

"Accent has not improved a single bit. Utterly ridiculous considering that you spend enough time with us to warrant being able to pull off a passable imitation." Jemma mutters, lowering her face so that she can hide her smile behind her mug of steaming tea. Looking at her right now, it's difficult to imagine once having not had around. It'd probably taken far too long to talk to her when they could have begun talking if Skye had just had her wits about her enough during the fourth of July. All it would have taken was her going over to make sure that she and Fitz were okay.

It's in the past though. She has them both in her life down and they've made it clear that they're not about to be shoved out easily. Between occasionally coming over to stay on school nights so that she has her complete little support system in the house when the nightmares get really bad and just hanging out to study other times, they're the best friends that anyone could ask for. Fitz has even tried to stand up to Pietro Maximoff on one of the occasions he decided to get revenge on Skye for the stunt with John. Granted, Pietro and his track and field buddies were about ready to kick his ass before Trip stepped in but Fitz had intervened when they came after Skye first.

There'd been nothing to hide the fact that he was genuinely scared of getting into a fight but that hadn't stopped him despite being outnumbered. Even when Skye had gently tried to coax him away by saying that, really, it was just fine and there was no reason things needed to go any further, Fitz had tried to demand that they apologize to her for all of the insults they'd thrown about her not being wanted. Foster freak, reject, stray mutt, on and on. Nothing was creative but it all burned just the same. Skye had kissed Fitz on the cheek afterwards. He'd muttered something with a shrug that had contradicted the softly pleased smile on his face.

"No, but really." Skye shifts to stretch out her legs in front of the sofa, wiggling her toes lazily. "I'm going to miss you and, you know, stuff like that."

"Oh, please, Mr. Coulson is going to be amazing, I'm sure of it. You'll have a wonderful time." Jemma reached over the lightly squeeze her hand. "Honestly, I doubt you'll even notice that we're gone. You're bound to be too busy having snowball fights."

"Yeah, well. It would be even better if you were here with me. And Coulson adores you, you know that. Thinks you're just a really good influence on me." Skye wrinkles her nose and looks away. "You and Fitz both, obviously but, hey, you'll go have your British adventures down the rabbit hole and then come back with all kinds of stories to tell me. Plus, you know, you can legally drink there already. Who knows what sort of trouble you'll end up getting into?"

Jemma rolls her eyes. "It's as though you think that being on holiday will turn us into wild party animals."

"I just want to see a few embarrassing yet adorable drunken pictures." Skye widens her eyes innocently until Jemma shakes her head, stifling laughter. She always has such a nice laugh. "And I'm a poor young deprived American! You can't deny me the pleasure of seeing my best friends making fools of themselves. That's just cruel."

"I _guess_ that could be arranged. That's going to have to be your Christmas present though." Jemma waggles a finger at her sternly. It's one of those confusingly endearing things that she does while joking but never while legitimately reprimanding.

The confusion pops up because of the fact that nuns had done the same thing to her in the past for getting trouble for this or that. When Jemma does it, though, it's cute. If everything goes according to plan, Skye feels her smile flicker at the 'what if' that she doesn't want to dwell on, then she won't have to worry about going back to the negative associations she has with that gesture. It's such a stupid thing to think about but the omnipresent concern of being sent back to St. Agnes never goes away completely no matter how much Coulson tries to reassure her in that vague way of his. He prefers to show how he cares rather than saying it out loud.

"Speaking of Christmas presents, I have something for you. Just, uh, wait here. Don't move." Ignoring the eruption of protests, Skye bounces up from the couch to go fetch the gift that she's wrapped—and rewrapped several times in an attempt to get the job done neatly enough—so that she can come back and drop it in Jemma's lap. "Merry Christmas, Jemma."

"Skye, you really didn't have to—"

"Oh, just open it!"

Jemma quiets down immediately so that she can go about the business of pulling apart the wrapping paper. By the time she's down to the moment of actually revealing what's inside of the bright green and red paper, Skye's beginning to have second thoughts about the gift. The uncertainty is definitely heightened when Jemma pulls out her gift and stares at it.

"…It's dumb, isn't it?" Skye blurts out, face heating up. In hindsight, she knows she should have chosen a gift that was more elegant considering just who Jemma is. She's brilliant, beautiful and all kinds of wonderful. This really is a dumb gift to have looked at and decided on as any sort of present. Very juvenile. "Shit, I thought it seemed like such a good idea at the time but now, damn it, I'm so sorry—"

"This is a neuron." Jemma looks over at her with the brightest smile. "You got me a stuffed neuron?"

"Well, I mean… You're just so smart. Like you're a freaking genius.? And you're also kinda, uh, you know," Skye scratches the back of her neck. "So, like, you're brainy and intelligent and everything and I saw this website that sells, like, these stuffed animals shaped like microbes and, really, the neuron seemed like the obvious choice so… But, no, it was really stupid and I should have—"

"I love it."

"You don't have to say that just because—"

"Skye." Jemma hugs the grey, big-eyed plush to her chest. "I_ love _it_._"

* * *

**December 25th, 10 days**

The kitchen isn't the place where she excels but damn it if she isn't trying her very best. A couple of shattered eggs along with a broken plate make up the casualty list so far but she's at least managed to create a nice pile of passable pancakes and scrambled eggs. To avoid setting the kitchen on fire, however, she has to throw in the towel when it comes to making bacon.

As in she temporarily forgets that bacon grease will definitely catch on fire and is taken by surprise when flames suddenly erupt far higher than they should be above the pan she's using just to make her shriek in surprise. This one, apparently, is not an adequate baking cooking pan. This isn't how things are supposed to go when making a special breakfast to impress the foster father on Christmas day. Nope, this isn't how it's supposed to be at all.

Snapping off the gas oven top, Skye curses loudly as she wildly attempts to stifle her mess with the wash towel she. It's a few heart pounding seconds of struggling against the flame but eventually it seems to work out pretty well when all traces of fire dissipate.

All hopes of being able to present her tiny masterpiece to Coulson without needing to mention that she might've almost accidentally burned down the house in the process disappears the moment that she turns around to see Couslon standing there with a raised eyebrow. Apologetically, Skye plucks the plate that she's filled from the counter and offers it out with a nervous, "Merry Christmas?"

"You made breakfast for me." Coulson says simply. His face is absolutely unreadable but that's often the case anyway.

"I did my best? I like to think that I've learned a couple of things from our mornings making breakfast together." Skye feels some relief when he takes the plate from her with a smile. "Never been one for cooking but since I've come here… It's been sort of nice to be able to get used to it. The nuns don't let us in the kitchen so—but you've really been wonderful. And I'm grateful. For everything. Like, just consider me to be the most grateful-est person ever."

And he's still silent. Her nerves are put on edge. Maybe she's said too much?

"There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Skye. If you don't mind sitting down for a few minutes right now, of course." Skye feels her skin go cold and her heart leap into her throat. Is he about to tell her that he's sending her back? Maybe she's done something that proves that she just isn't a good fit. Again. Swallowing, Skye forces a smile. She's gotten through rejection before. She has enough experience to not want to actually count the number of times she's been shipped back to the nuns.

She'd been stupid and naive to think it wouldn't happen with Coulson.

* * *

**December 26th, 9 days**

"Jemma, Jemma, Jemma, pick up, pick up, pick up—Hey!" Skye can't physically restrain herself from pacing around the room anxiously. It probably comes through in her voice is Jemma's curious response is anything to go by. "So, guess who's not going anywhere any time soon?"

"I would hope not. I like having you around." Jemma sounds confused more than anything. Hearing her say that brings a rush of warmth to Skye's cheeks. She knows that Jemma cares. She'd have to be dense to not notice that but it's still nice to hear out loud purely for selfish validation. "Fitz, come here, it's Skye!"

"Skye! How's Christmas there?" Fitz pipes up. There's sounds of other people talking distantly in the background but Skye has no reason to focus on what they're saying.

Skye can't answer because this is perfect and Jemma's on the phone and Fitz is there and he's tapping on the phone muttering about the service when it takes her a little too long to respond. Jemma repeats her name, there's snow on the ground outside, she can hear Coulson downstairs talking to May and sounding just as excited as she feels and everything is _perfect_.

"I'm staying! For good. I'm—Coulson's adopting me. Like for real."

It takes every ounce of self-control to stop herself from breaking down into tears just saying it out loud.

* * *

**December 31st, 4 days**

Skye is alerted to the new year in London by a picture texted to her by Jemma of her kissing Fitz on the nose, a drink in hand and smile on her face.

Her throat tightens. She forcefully ignores it.

* * *

**January 1st, 3 days**

The official new year for her isn't quite as exciting but she takes some amusement in seeing Coulson lean over to kiss Melinda on the cheek when the ball drops and a roar of celebration comes from the television speakers.

* * *

**January 4th, Full Moon**

"How's it coming?" Grant asks, tossing his shirt in the corner of the room. Stripping down before the moon rises is a task she's not certain she'll ever get used to. But considering that it's either get undressed or end up with shredded clothing there's not much of another option. She may not be a member of his little group but at least he doesn't deny her the chance to hang out with all of them on these nights.

"It's coming." Skye responds. "I'm working on it but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

He nods in acknowledgement. He's not actually so bad of a guy when he's not acting like an arrogant, condescending prick.

"Just keep coming until you get the hang enough. Before you know it, you'll have enough control to just be able to turn in your room and sleep it off." Trip almost claps her on the shoulder in encouragement but quickly averts his hand with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, is it okay if I do that?"

"Yeah, sure. It's just a hand on the shoulder." Skye shrugs reluctantly. "We've all seen each other naked enough times by now, right?"

Trip smiles but makes no move to touch her. She's grateful for that.

* * *

**January 20th, 13 days**

"Where'd you have to disappear to yesterday during the movie?" Jemma's playing with her hair, Fitz is on the floor leaning back against her legs, and Skye's just content to loll her head back against the large sofa cushions with her eyes closed.

"I was with Grant. He's been helping me work out and stuff." Skye speaks through a stifled yawn. It's not too far off of the truth but she's glad she has her eyes shut all the same. Lying to her best friends isn't high on her list of preferred activities. She feels Fitz nod his head slightly but Jemma's fingers pause momentarily just as the music on the television grows dramatically louder.

"Oh." The important plot moment's clearly passed because Jemma starts back up again.

* * *

**February 3rd, Full Moon**

"What're you doing tonight?" Jemma's stretched out with her head on Skye's lap while they watch some movie called D.E.B.S. filled with humor, an adorable super villain, a perfectionist main heroine and some annoying jackass who doesn't seem keen on taking rejection like a decent human being. The best part of the whole movie, hands down, is the fact that the female antagonist clearly has fallen for the female protagonist. Skye almost feels bad using the word antagonist to refer to her to be honest.

"Uh." Skye tears her eyes away from the screen. "Grant."

Jemma stares at her, brow furrowed. It's enough for Skye to realize how that sounds.

"God, no, no, not like that. I'm not _doing _Grant. We have plans tonight. Work out session and everything. Lots of, you know, sweating and lifting weights and stuff but not like _that_." Skye pulls a face at the very idea. They've seen each other naked before but in no way does she want to do that with Grant of all people.

* * *

**March 5th, Full Moon**

She feels Jemma's eyes on her.

"What's up?" Skye asks quietly, rubbing hard with her eraser at the answer on her paper. This doesn't look like the right chemical equation at all.

"Nothing. Nothing." Jemma insists. The response is a little too quick to be casual but when she looks up Fitz and Jemma are breaking their own glances at each other.

"Going over to Grant's tonight?" Fitz asks after a few minutes.

Skye just hums in confirmation, idly pushing several of her erasers into a neat row next to her paper while she tries to sort the problem out for herself. She's had enough time with the two of them to be able to figure this bullshit out on her own. Her chemistry homework begs to differ.

* * *

**April 4th, Full Moon**

Sometimes her friends have the worst possible timing.

"Hey, what's up?" Skye cradles her phone against her shoulder. She waves a hand at some of the others so that they quiet down and-slash-or mind their own business instead of trying to listen in on her phone call. Her eyes especially fall on Bobby who raises his hands in surrender with a mischievous grin. Kate at least takes vengeance on her behalf by balling up a fist to punch him right in the chest, glaring.

"I was hoping that we could talk about something. Maybe tomorrow if you're not busy?" Jemma's unusually anxious to the point that Skye pauses in the middle of unhooking her bra to better focus on her.

"Is everything okay?" Skye asks. "I mean, of course we can talk. Always, we can always talk, but are you okay like right now?"

"Truthfully—" Jemma starts after a beat of hesitation. In that moment, Grant obliviously interrupts.

"I can go put your bra over by the—Hey, hey! Ow! Stop it!" He hops back from her threatening hand before she can hit him again but the damage is done.

"I'm so—I'm so sorry to have interrupted. I didn't realize…"

"No, wait, no, this totally isn't anything. He was just being a mor—"

"I'll talk to you later, okay? Goodnight."

The phone goes dead and her first thought is to spin on the spot to punch Grant hard in the abdomen. What a jackass.

* * *

**April 5th, 28 days**

Fitz keeps shooting reprimanding looks her way when he thinks she's not looking and Jemma won't hold her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. Considering these things, all of their other interactions are relatively normal until she tries to get Jemma alone to explain what she had heard.

No good explanation comes to mind. Not that it matters because Jemma doesn't want to have this conversation.

* * *

**April 10th, 23 days**

"Nothing happened." Neither of them need her to clarify what she's talking about.

Jemma raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. It's okay if you like him or are dating him. Or not dating him. Whatever you want to do is—"

"I don't want to though." Skye interrupts impatiently. "I don't want anything with him like that. We're barely even friends most of the time."

Jemma doesn't say anything. Neither does Skye.

That's the moment that they both seem to figure out that something's changed.

* * *

**April 20th, 13 days**

"You two!" Fitz bursts out, slamming his notebook closed as he rises to his feet. "_Honestly_."

He leaves the both of them in silence, dumbfounded.

* * *

**May 3rd, Full Moon**

Skye focuses on her hands, eyes narrowed and breath held in her lungs tightly. Come on, come on, come on. Everyone's eyes are on her right up until…

"HA!" Skye whoops, holding her clawed hands aloft in triumph. The rest of Grant's pack erupts into raucous celebration right alongside her. The basement is filled with partially nude teenagers which might be a spectacle to some in itself especially since none of them give any others the slightest sexual glance. Skye knows this for certain because that sort of arousal would be impossible to hide from even one of them never mind a whole group. To an outsider, they'd surely all look insane.

This is the progress that she's been aiming for during the last long months. This is what makes training with Grant so damn worth it and _this_ is what's going to keep not only her loved ones alive but herself as well. Control and calm. Being able to control her claws is a short step in a long line of accomplishments that she needs to get through to be fully in control but it's so worth it.

"See? Didn't I tell you you would get this down. You'll be out roaming around in no time at all." Trip smiles proudly and damn if he doesn't look like a pleased older sibling. It's stupid how much she grins.

* * *

**June 7th, 24 days**

Fitz makes it obvious that he's had it absolutely up to here with the weird tension going on between the two of them and his message starts with a simple text that her phone beeps to alert her to. Skye, relishing in the progress she's made even since the full moon last month, lazily rolls herself out of bed. She hasn't had any intention of getting up earlier than necessary but when Fitz, Jemma or Coulson call, they jump right to the top of her priority list.

Grant's commented on this before. He seems to think that the reason she becomes more and more averse to laying any claim to being in part of his pack is because she's already created one of her own. These people aren't like them. They aren't trapped between the natural and supernatural. They don't even know what she really is underneath the surface but if they did, Skye likes to think that they might still love her all of the same. Maybe they wouldn't understand at all. Maybe they would. Yeah, she definitely prefers the sound of the latter. Maybe being around them might be enough to keep her in control during a full moon but she's not about to risk their safety on a guess.

"What's up, Fitz?" Skye's looking down at her phone when she enters the shed in his backyard. So it's less of a shed and more of a place devoted only to Fitz where he can freely tinker away with whatever he wants to without disturbance.

"Skye?" Nope, Skye looks up at the sound of her name, that's not Fitz at all. That's definitely Jemma, who is very much not Fitz who'd said he would be waiting because he needed to talk to her, and she's looking just as confused as Skye feels right now. Jemma lifts her phone questioningly. Skye realizes that Fitz must've texted her as well with essentially the same message about meeting him out here.

Her suspicions are confirmed but the distinctive sound of the door locking behind the pair of them. He can't be seriously doing this. This doesn't happen to people in real life situations. No one traps people together to force them to talk things through unless they're in a teenage romantic drama movie on MTV or Lifetime. Skye spins around and knocks heavily on the door with her fist. In any real threatening situation, she can readily rip such a flimsy door right off of its hinges. At the present moment, however, it would cause more problems than solutions.

"Fitz, come on." Skye raises her voice loud enough to be heard through the wood.

"Bloody talk it out already! It's dead painful watching you two dancing around each other like uncoordinated monkeys."

Rude.

Skye huffs. Fitz isn't going to relent.

"Well then." Skye turns back around slowly, clapping her hands together awkwardly. Jemma's mouth is agape, eyes wide, as she stares incredulously past Skye at the door. "Fitz has made his demands pretty clear, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes." Jemma sighs, raising her eyes to the ceiling as though blaming it for allowing Fitz to lock them away like this. "I guess… We should probably talk about things, shouldn't we?"

"YES!" Comes Fitz's voice through the door.

"Shut up and go away if you want us to talk!" Jemma raises her voice right back at him. It seems to do the trick. "As I was saying…"

Jemma lapses into silence while Skye waits, watching her curiously. Waiting had never been a strong suit in the past but Grant has helped her to improve on her patience during the annoyingly long hours they've needed to spend together. Jemma needs some time to figure out what she wants to say. That's okay. Skye moves over to drop down onto the little sofa against the wall, gesturing uncertainly for Jemma to come join her. She finds she can breathe easier when the offer is accepted.

"Look, I wanted to tell you that… I want to be very clear when I say that if you and Grant have a… have a thing. It's perfectly alright with me and I'm very sorry for acting weird about it before. It was stupid, really, and if you and he work together and you're happy then… You should be happy. You should definitely do what makes you happy, Skye. And I'll support you all of the way and I know Fitz will too but I was dumb about it before because…" Jemma falters but recovers smoothly but it's enough for Skye to understand fully what's going on. At least she hopes that she's understanding this right, "Because I'm not even sure why. But I'm always here for you. Really, I am."

"Jemma." Skye's facing her fully now. Perspiration makes her palms cold and clammy to the point that she has to wipe them on her pants firmly. Not at all attractive. This is the best chance she's going to get to act. One chance, just a few seconds of bravery. "I'm going to kiss you so… If you don't want me to, just say no and I'll totally back off and there's no pressure for anything at—"

Soft lips press against her own in the most effective silencing technique ever demonstrated because Skye can't imagine ever wanting to do anything else. Why leave this shed ever when she can tuck her whole body against Jemma and tangle her fingers in her hair and drag her nails down the back of her neck so that, God, she makes that heart-stopping little sound into her mouth. Every feeling of awkwardness is explained in a moment of contact that comes to an end sooner than she ever could've wanted it to.

"Sometimes you talk too much, Skye." Jemma murmurs, her slightly swollen lips curled into a breathless smile.

"Yeah." Skye nuzzles her cheek to Jemma's. "Maybe I do."

It's not the first time she's been told that. Maybe she can work on it. A lot of things can change in another year.


End file.
